Chapter 13 #2
Unlike most people at school, I don’t give a shit about fashion.
I also hate shopping, so I don’t have a lot of clothes compared to my peers.
It makes my life easier, and since I’ve had the same style since I was in high school, I don’t need to constantly update my wardrobe like the fashionistas I’m surrounded by do.
After going through my meager collection of shirts and pants, I pull a white button-up and a pair of black slim-fit pants off the rack, then grab a fresh pair of black socks and black underwear from the shelves.
The annual Baxter House anti-Valentine’s party, or the Baxter AV party as most people call it, has a simple standing dress code of black and white. It doesn’t matter what you wear, but each individual piece of clothing, including shoes, can only be solid white or solid black.
Stripping off my clothes, I toss them aside and pull on my party outfit.
I showered before I went to the library, so there’s no point taking another one.
And this way I won’t be tempted to jerk off to memories of a thick cock in my mouth and strong hands running through my hair while I’m under the spray.
Ignoring where my thoughts went, which is where they end up most of the time when I’m in the shower or lying in my bed at night, I go to my desk and pick up the white Venetian mask I ordered.
Just like some of the other more hedonistic events around campus, the most notable being the famous Rapture party the Rebels hold every year, the Baxter AV party has a mask requirement. There’s no rule about keeping them on once you’re inside, but you can’t get through the door without one.
Tossing the mask on my bed as I pass it, I do one last fit check in the mirror.
Even with my resting bitch face, I look good.
The white shirt is just tight enough to cling to my muscles without pulling or gaping at all, and the crisp color contrasts nicely with my dark hair and makes my eyes pop.
The slim-fit pants I chose emphasize my thighs and ass, and the slightly shiny material gives them a bit of texture when they catch the light.
I left the top two buttons on my shirt open, and the silver chain around my neck and the black edges of my chest tattoo peeking out from the open material draw attention to not just my ink, but also my piercings, giving me a look that’s both dangerous and put together.
Like a sexy CEO relaxing after a long day.
I snort-laugh and finish rolling up my sleeves. At least I don’t have to worry about my self-esteem taking a beating while I’m in my funk.
It’s still cold enough that I pull on my jacket, and I slip my ID, my room key, and the stupid mask in my pockets. Then I swipe my phone up from my bed and check the battery on it. It’s just under seventy percent, so I don’t bother plugging it in and put it in my bedside table.
Phones and any sort of recording devices are forbidden at these types of parties, and the punishment for breaking the rules is steep.
Like the rest of the attendees, I’ve already signed a contract agreeing to the house rules, and I signed an NDA.
The guarantee of privacy is one of the biggest draws for these types of events, and the invite-only guest list doesn’t hurt either.
It keeps the gatherings relatively small, and that makes them more tolerable since there are fewer people to deal with.
I might not be accepted by most students, but my father’s name and influence mean I get invited to most of the exclusive events on campus.
I used to really dislike how the same people who’d talk shit about me behind my back would then turn around and smile to my face and invite me to their parties because they didn’t want to risk pissing off my father, but after years of dealing with this crap, it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I already know most people here are two-faced assholes, but at least this way I have access to an endless supply of top-shelf party favors and can get my dick wet whenever I want.
Hopefully I can shake off whatever has been dragging me down and enjoy both of those perks tonight.
“Name,” a bored-looking guard asks, giving me an appraising look as he stands in the doorway of Baxter House.
“Damon Cosgrove.”
He lifts his tablet, presumably to look for my name, then taps on the screen a few times.
“Arms out,” he says, putting the tablet on a stool near the door and picking up a metal detector wand.
I hold out my arms and wait passively as he moves the wand over me. It lights up and beeps obnoxiously when he waves it over my face and my piercings set it off, and then does it again when he passes it over my crotch.
“Undo your coat,” he says, still sounding bored as hell.
I do as he says, then resume holding my arms out so he can finish checking me.
The wand goes off again when he waves it over my crotch, and he lifts the bottom of my shirt to look at my waistband.
“No belt?” he asks, his brow knitting in confusion.
“Nope.” I give him a little smirk-smile. “But I do have some hardware down there. It’s not just on my clothes.”
He stares at me for a few beats, then his eyes widen slightly and his gaze flicks to my crotch. “You mean you have a…”
“Yup.”
He lets out a surprised chuckle and steps back. “Come in.”
The air inside Baxter House is heavy and warm, and I start sweating as soon as I step through the door.
“Coat check is there.” He motions to the right. “Keep to the main floor and stay out of restricted rooms. Follow the rules of the contract and don’t make trouble, or there will be trouble. Got it?”
I nod.
“Enjoy your night,” he says, already looking bored again as he picks up his tablet and sits on the stool.
Pulling off my jacket, I head over to the coat check room, which is just one of the smaller study rooms they’ve converted for the night.
The four guys working the room are obviously freshmen, and by the ridiculous frilly maid hats and aprons they’re wearing over their clothes, they’re serving out some sort of punishment.
Baxter House isn’t one of the four frats, but like all the dorms on campus, it has its own hierarchy with dorm leaders, an admin team, and the rest of the students who live there falling into various levels of importance.
Every dorm on campus is famous for something, and Baxter House is known as the party house.
They also don’t subscribe to the same level of hero worship for the frats that most of the other houses do.
It’s not uncommon to find guys from all four of the frats at their events, and there’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens at Baxter House stays there and frat drama is to be left at the door.
“Here,” one of the freshmen says, handing me a bright blue ticket.
“Thanks.” I take it from him and slip it in my pocket.
The guy next to him rakes his eyes up and down my body, not so subtly checking me out. I shoot him a smirk when his eyes finally reach my face, and he flushes bright pink.
Just because I can, I give him a little wink when he continues to stare at me with wide eyes.
“Enjoy the party,” he stammers, his cheeks flaming red with a blush as he finally looks away and drops his gaze to the table in front of him.
The guy on his other side snickers at his friend’s obvious discomfort and elbows him in the side.
I flash them a smile. “I plan to.”
I can hear their whispers as I leave the coat check room, but I don’t bother trying to make out what they’re saying. I’m used to people talking about me behind my back, and they’re probably just ribbing their friend for being so obvious when he checked me out.
The party has only been going on for about thirty minutes, so the hall is relatively quiet as I walk toward the center of the building.
Baxter House has the same general setup as every other dorm, with common areas on the main floor and private rooms on the upper ones. The only notable difference is that they don’t have a center entrance and only have two, one on each side of the building.
Just like their previous parties, several of the rooms closest to the entrance have been blocked off while the main lounges in the center of the floor have been turned into various party rooms.
The lights in the hallway are dim, and the thump of music is steady as I pass several small groups of people lingering in the hall. I can’t really tell who anyone is because of the low lighting and their masks, but that’s kind of the point at these types of parties.
I pass several more blocked-off rooms, then stop in the doorway of the first party room and look inside.
It’s been set up as the chill room with tons of couches and chairs crammed into the space.
There are only a couple of small speakers in here, so the music isn’t too loud.
You can actually hold a conversation without shouting, and the low lighting with soft waves of colors moving over the room gives it an intimate feel.
Some of the couches are occupied by couples and groups. Most of them are just sitting and chatting while they sip drinks or smoke, but a few are occupied by couples who are making out and humping each other like horny teens.
Stepping back, I continue down the hall. I didn’t come here to chill. I came here to get out of my head and have some fun.
The next room is the largest of the lounges in the house, and it’s actually two rooms that have a partition between them. Currently, the partition is open, and the room is set up like a club.
There’s a full-service bar against one wall, and the speaker and a lighting setup could rival the ones at my gigs. But the bulk of the room is being used as a dance floor.
The crowd isn’t as big as usual since it’s still relatively early, but I scan the area out of habit to see if I recognize anyone.